Page 220 of These Tears

The warmth of it seeps into me.

‘Do you think… I could be forgiven?’ he murmurs, and his voice breaks like glass.

I lean closer, heart thundering.

And claim him again.

His mouth.

His darkness.

His soul.

‘You’ll have to work harder for that,’ I whisper against his mouth, a little firmer. ‘But let’s start with simpler things. Smaller things.’

His fingers keep threading through my hair.

And suddenly I am too aware of how little he is wearing, and how close I’m kneeling to all that exposed skin.

As the worry begins to fall away, something darker begins to rise in me.

‘How do I get these off?’ I ask, refocusing on the chains to keep my mind from spiralling. My eyes find the key further away, but before I can reach for it, his hand wraps around my forearm and stops me.

I turn to look at him. He wears that same stare from a long time ago, when I wasn’t sure if meeting it would damage me or give me something I shouldn’t want.

My fingers brush the metal around his wrists, now warm from his skin. The sight of the shackles claws at me. I want him out of them. Away from the iron. Away from this dark.

‘Don’t,’ he warns, recognising my intent.

I frown, glancing back at him. ‘You don’t need these.’

‘You have your passport,’ he cuts in. ‘A way out. Why haven’t you left?’

Everything in me slows. Fingers curl. Spine straightens as if my body has to brace around the answer before it comes out.

‘Same reason you brought me here.’ The truth teeters on the tip of my tongue. He waits with that Elias Crane patience that sometimes makes me want to scream.

‘I need you,’ I concede.

His jaw slackens slightly. Gaze stills on mine. Not a flutter of lashes, not a rise of his chest.

‘I blamed my mum for years, you know.’ His brows pull together. ‘For leaving me with him. Took me a long time to understand she didn’t.’

His eyes lift to mine. We breathe each other in for a long while until he whispers, ‘Kiss me again.’

I narrow my eyes at him. The skin at the bridge of his nose crumples at that.

‘No,’ I say and rise.

The chains scrape over the floor as he relaxes against it.

‘You can kiss me when the chains are off and that wound is properly cleaned and dressed.’ I nod at the blood on his torn sleeve. ‘And when you’re clothed.’

I start for the door. Behind me, the links make no more noise until I’m at the threshold. Then they shift softly across the wood. ‘And you’d better hurry before Anders comes back, sees the mess outside and asks me why I broke down your… trauma cupboard with a hatchet.’

A brief, uneasy chuckle follows the few steps I take towards the exit.

‘Leah,’ he calls behind me. I nearly smile when I recognise the colour had returned to his voice – if only a little. Like lingering warmth on ash.